Toffee Apples on Bonfire Night
by Dollybelleol'whatserface
Summary: Post-JE. Spoilers for S4. "Guy Fawkes was an alien?" On Bonfire Night, both Tony and the Doctor want toffee apples, Pete's 'helping' with the fireworks, Jackie's drunk and poor Rose is on her own. Until, the Doctor has something to tell her...Complete!


Toffee Apples on Bonfire Night

**Disclaimer: **Ohh. You know.

**Author's Note:** When I tried to upload this earlier this morning there was a problem with the...story code or something, so I deleted it, but it's now back. Like Rose. There's (thankfully!) no getting rid of her, is there? Just pretend that the scene with the coral on the beach was kept in JE, m'kay? It's much easier! Like everything with me, this is about a month late because I wrote it on Bonfire Night during _Silent Witness _and it's err, the 7th of December now! It's slightly different to my normal stuff, I think, but if you _could_ tell me what you think about it, that'd be good! Thanks for reading!

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The air was grey and hazy with smoke, hanging in wisps, like flimsy ribbons.

Spirals of luminescent greens, pinks, blues and oranges filled the night sky, accompanied by loud bangs and whistles.

Bonfire night.

It smelt of sulphur and burnt wood; heady and pungent, but at the same time strangely comforting. It reminded Rose of cold winter nights on the Powell Estate, when on Bonfire night, all the neighbours would cobble together a bit of spare cash and buy a cheap box of fireworks between them.

Mr. Winston used to wheel out his barbeque and cook hot dogs and fried onions, and Mickey's grandma would bring flasks of instant hot chocolate for the children and they'd all stand huddled together around the concrete square in the middle of the estate and set the fireworks off, 'Ooohing' and 'Aaahing' at the pretty colours, loud noises and the smell of cooking food.

Then, at 8 o'clock, when the littlest child started yawning, the adults would sigh something about 'school in the morning' and 'washing up to be done' and they'd all drift inside in dribs and drabs, out of the cold, leaving behind spent matches and charred coloured cardboard boxes.

The fireworks being set up now though, were far from the pitiful bangers bought from the off-license that Rose remembered from her childhood.

These were proper, industrial-sized fireworks; the sort used in professional displays at New Year. Rose watched as Torchwood workers who were normally found to be clicking away at hi-tech keyboards and experimenting with bit of kit, zigzagged across Pete's back lawn, assembling rockets, Catherine wheels and screamers set to timers.

She was sitting on the back step with the cold seeping in through her jeans, giving her a numb bum, but with the warm air of the brightly-lit kitchen behind her, at her back.

She could hear the buzz of conversation, shouts of laughter, loud _pops _and _cracks_ of fireworks being set off in the distance, and the crackle of the bonfire.

Round the side of the house they'd set up a huge, open bonfire where they were burning effigies of Guy Fawkes made out of pillow classes, old clothes and scrunched-up plastic bags, and cooking baked potatoes- all wrapped up in silver tin foil, skewered on the end of metal toasting forks which were charred black with use.

Most of the Torchwood employees were gathered around the bonfire, swapping funny anecdotes about whatever recent mission they'd recently been on and chatting at length about the upcoming Christmas season; sharing ideas for presents and rumours about the Staff Christmas party.

Every year, Pete hosted a fireworks display in the back garden of his mansion to celebrate Bonfire night and Torchwood turned out in force, bringing along partners and children to sip hot wine, and binge on toffee apples and black treacle cake.

Dutifully, Rose had always shown her face, just to seem willing, but had always appeared to be quite sad and downtrodden, because fireworks reminded her of the 2012 Olympics; walking down Dame Kelly Holmes Close, her hand held firmly in the Doctor's as he jabbered on enthusiastically about ball bearings.

She'd brushed his arm and rested her head on his shoulder that night as they watched the spectacular fireworks above, their breath clouding in front of them.

"There's something in the air," he'd told her cryptically. "Something coming…there's a storm approaching."

He'd sounded so foreboding, yet so unsure that she'd felt a shiver tingle up her spine and he'd gripped her hand tighter, tracing the back of it with his thumb.

For once…he had looked just as afraid as she had.

"Rose!" came a high, child-like voice from inside the house behind her, distracting her from her thoughts.

She smiled and swiveled round, hearing the plodding of small feet crossing the kitchen linoleum.

A small, three year-old boy with white blonde hair (covered by a yellow toy builder's hat), large brown eyes and a runny nose came trundling into view, trailing a scarf from one hand and a fleecy coat from the other.

Tony Tyler.

"Ohh, _there_ you are!" said Rose brightly, with a tone of exaggerated surprise as she scrambled up from her sitting position.

"I was going to come and look for you. Thought you'd got lost!"

Tony grinned up at her. "Nope! Couldn't find my scarf," he explained, looking sheepish as he waved it at her.

"Where was it?" asked Rose, laughing and taking the blue and red scarf from his hands gently, and kneeling down in front of him so she could wind it round his neck.

"Toy box," he said, as if it was the most obvious place in the world.

"Po was wearing it!" he shouted in delight, referring to his large, cuddly panda that was probably the same height as him.

"Po's got a cheek!" said Rose, pretending to be scandalised that Tony's toy panda had been wearing his scarf.

Twenty minutes ago, she had sent him back upstairs to find a scarf, a hat and a coat; it being ridiculously cold and miserable outside.

Normally, Jackie was in charge of such tasks; bribing Tony with his favourite tea of chicken teddies, smiley faces and beans if he put his coat on without a fuss.

Being no less awkward or stubborn than his older sister had been, (according to Jackie's stories, anyway) Tony hated putting his coat on, and his favourite trick was to set his lip and clamp his arms down by his sides, like stiff rods of iron, refusing to allow his hands to be stuffed down the sleeves of his coat.

It usually resulted in Jackie being in a bit of a bad mood and Tony sitting on the naughty step…

Tonight though, Jackie, wearing a pair of furry earmuffs from _Accessorize_ had dispersed into the clumps of Torchwood workers to top up glasses of wine (at the same time as her own, of course) and make friendly conversation about this and that, ever the perfect hostess and Pete…well he was somewhere on the lawn, which looked inky and black, like a lake under the cover of night, evidently pretending he knew something about gunpowder.

As for the Doctor; he'd wandered off somewhere about an hour ago, muttering off-handedly about a man called Lord Monteagle.

He was probably by the bonfire, keeping a stern eye on his beloved toffee apples to make sure no one tried to make off with them.

"_Apples_, Rose!" he'd babbled excitedly earlier that evening, inspecting a toffee apple in delight, before Jackie had confiscated it from him.

" Inferior to the banana, but without them, your lot wouldn't have got all excited about gravity, would they? Gravity-schmavity…oh but dipping them in toffee; _brilliant_!"

So, Rose was left to sort out her mischievous little brother on her own.

Shouldn't be _too_ difficult…getting Tony ready to go out was like trying to organize a full-scale military operation…

"It's a _lovely_ scarf, Tony," enthused Rose.

"All warm and snuggly," she said, smoothing it down for him so that it lay flat, and the embroidered motif of _Bob the Builder_ faced the front.

"Can I borrow it?" she asked, playfully, jiggling the ends.

"Nooo," giggled Tony, in a 'don't-be-so-silly-Rose' sort of voice, clutching at his scarf protectively.

"Aw, why not?" whined Rose, teasing him by pretending to go in a huff.

She jutted her bottom lip out and made sad, puppy eyes at her little brother.

"Because it's mine and you're already wearing one!" said Tony seriously, plucking at the white tasseled scarf wrapped around Rose's neck.

Rose snorted at Tony's bewildered expression.

"It's ok, I'm only joking, Tony," she said, squeezing his nose, teasingly.

He blew a green-ish bubble out of his nose in response and Rose made a face.

"Eurgh! Sir Snotalot!" she moaned, rising to her feet and rummaging in her jeans pocket for a tissue.

"Here," she said, holding a folded tissue with _Winnie the Pooh_ patterns on, up to his nose.

"Blow," she instructed. Tony gave a small snuffle, and she wiped his upper lip for him before scrunching the tissue up into a ball.

She crossed to the bin, standing next to the back door, leaving Tony standing in the middle of the kitchen, like an evacuee at a train station.

"If you give me this cold, mind," she threatened, dropping the tissue into the bin. "I'll have to chop your legs off," she grinned widely, going back over to crouch in front of him, again.

She took a deep breath, picking up his fleecy, quilted coat, with the sort of burgeoning dread that comes when you're about to do something dangerous. Like wrestle lions.

"Ok then, Mr. Man," she chirped cheerfully, turning his coat around and holding it out for him to put his arms through. "Are we going to put this coat on you, or what?"

Tony looked at Rose as if she were holding out a python to him. He scowled down at his coat in distaste, looking the spitting image of Pete.

"No," he said sulkily. "I'm not wearing it," he grouched, attempting to knock it out of Rose's hands bad-temperedly.

Rose sighed, coming out of her crouch to sit down on the floor properly, with her legs crossed.

"Tony, it's freezing outside. I bet there are even some penguins walking around! You've already got a cold-you don't want to turn into a snowman do you?" she tried hopefully, appealing to his childish imagination.

"No," decided Tony, but looking no less sullen.

"Then put your coat on," said Rose firmly, giving his coat a shake.

She looked at Tony, attempting to hide the amused smile on her face; he looked so much like Pete when he was like this, but he was _acting_…just like she used to.

He reminded her of herself in _so_ many ways, like how he came downstairs shuffling on his bum-she used to do that, and how he always stuck his tongue through his teeth when he smiled widely…she _still_ did that.

She too, used to hate wearing her coat.

She remembered that once, she hadn't been allowed to watch _Postman Pat_ for a week because she'd taken her lilac coat (with a picture of a unicorn stitched on the back) off in the middle of _Safeway_ and left it on the floor in the middle of the shampoo aisle.

She grimaced, knowing only too well that she was being almost motherly in her nagging at him to put his coat on and wrap up properly.

The fact that she was old enough to _be_ his mother, rather than his older sister, wasn't something that had escaped her notice…

"I've got my coat on, look," she pointed out, spreading her arms so that he could see that she was wearing a quilted black _The North Face_ coat with fur around the hood.

"_Mum_'s got her coat on and so has Dad, though I bet he wishes yours could fit him 'cause _yours_ has got red stripes down the arms and I reckon he'll be dead jealous, yeah?" she whispered conspiratorially. "And the Doctor…"

"Where _is_ the Doctor?" interrupted Tony, suddenly brightening at the mention of the Doctor's name.

Rose smiled at him and inwardly gave a shout of triumph; she'd struck gold.

The Doctor.

"I dunno, actually," said Rose, looking overly-mystified and perplexed, as if they were talking about a _Scooby Doo_ type mystery that Tony loved watching so much, playing along for his sake.

"But, I bet," she continued, seizing her chance. "That wherever he is, _he's_ got his coat on. What do you think?"

Tony beamed at her; a sunny smile that could melt anyone's heart and nodded excitedly.

"Yeaaah!" he cheered, doing a little jump before obligingly, slotting his hands through the sleeves of his coat and allowing Rose to pull it up over his shoulders.

"Yeah, I bet the Doctor's got his coat on," he agreed happily. "But his hasn't got red stripes up the arms, has it?" he asked proudly, fingering at the red stripes on his arms, looking rather pleased with himself.

" I don't think it has, no," mused Rose; turning Tony round by his shoulders so she could do up his zip.

"Watch it doesn't bite you!" prompted Tony, expectantly.

Ever since she had told him that the 'funny jaggedy bits' on zips were called 'teeth', they'd had a shared gag that Rose would pretend to get the end of her finger chewed off whenever she zipped him up.

Tony always roared with laughter, and Rose giggled along, causing anyone within the vicinity to wonder if Jackie and Pete's two children were…quite right in the head.

"Ow!" flinched Rose, pulling her hand back as if she'd been burnt and sticking her first finger in her mouth.

Tony threw his head back and laughed; high-pitched and very loud.

"Ooh, I'm glad you think it's funny!" said Rose, pretending to be stern, waving her 'bitten' hand in the air.

"It nearly had my fingers off!" she indulged him, grinning at him fondly.

Typical three-year old.

He'd forgotten that he hadn't wanted to put his coat on in the first place.

Playing the 'Doctor Card' nearly always worked.

Tony now ate bananas because Rose had told him that the Doctor loved them; he'd stopped badgering his Dad for a kitten because Rose had mentioned that the Doctor 'wasn't a cat person,' and now, saying that the Doctor wore a coat had stopped an earth-shattering tantrum.

Not bad.

Tony seemed to adore the Doctor almost as much as he loved Rose, and really, thought Rose with a secret smile to herself, blushing at the thought, who could blame him?

"You going to help me find the Doctor, then?" she suggested, as if it would be some sort of grand expedition for them both.

"Yeah! Come on, Rose!" he yelled enthusiastically, tugging on her arm and heading in the direction of the back door.

He turned back round, suddenly, looking flummoxed. "Where is he?" he asked blankly.

Rose shook her head at him. "Hang on a minute, Tony; wait there," she said evenly, trying not to laugh at the sight of him rushing out into the back garden wearing a toy builder's hat, to find a 905 year old Time Lord.

"What's this?" she said patiently, knocking on the side of his plastic hat.

"My _Bob the Builder_ helmet," replied Tony, sounding mildly put out that Rose had had to ask, as if he had expected her to know better.

"Yeah, thanks Tony," she said dryly, tittering at him "But how's it supposed to keep your head warm, ey?"

"You told me to go and find my hat," he reminded her, his face falling, as if he were afraid she was going to tell him off.

"I meant a nice, warm, _wooly_ hat," explained Rose kindly.

She held a hand out to him and led the way out of the kitchen and into the carpeted hallway, where a selection of coats and hats hung on large wooden hooks next to the stairs. "Come on then, you."

She reached up and selected a smallish cream and blue bobble hat with tassels and wooly flaps that went over the ears.

This she pulled down over Tony's head, after tactfully removing his builder's hat and placing it on the hallway table, smiling with her tongue through her teeth as Tony scrunched his face up at his new attire.

"There," she said tapping his shoulder lightly, as if in reassurance.

"I think you're all wrapped up and ready to got to the North Pole now! Shall we go and get you a toffee apple?"

Tony nodded his assent, happily and, taking his small, warm hand in her own once more, the pair of them went back through the hallway and across the kitchen, Tony's trainers and Rose's boots clicking noisily against the floor.

"Argh, it's freezing!" shuddered Rose, pulling her scarf up over her chin with her free hand as she helped Tony jump down the three stone steps leading down into the garden.

Going from the warm, well-lit kitchen to the cold air outside that bit harshly at her nose and exposed cheeks, was not at all pleasant.

A bit like wrenching yourself from a warm, comfortable bed on a winter's morning to get up and potter bleary-eyed around a stone-cold house making breakfast before the central heating had even kicked in.

"Look, Rose! You can see my breath!" cried Tony excitedly, puffing his hot breath out into the air, making it look like steam was billowing from his mouth. "Dragon breath!" he enthused. "Look! Rose, you do it!"

Swinging their joined hands, they 'dragon breathed' their way around the damp lawn, where clumps of people had gathered at a safe distance from the rows of fireworks, clutching foam cups of wine and white paper plates of treacle cake, following the plumes of smoke and the delicious smell of burning wood, to the bonfire around the side of the house.

Even at a distance of a few meters, Rose could feel the heat from the fire licking at her cheeks and spreading warmth over her chest and shoulders, like hot breath.

She closed her eyes blissfully, feeling for a moment, as if she'd just sunk into a hot bath.

It smelt…glorious; of burning, roasting potatoes, and the sweet tang of toffee melting over apples.

She looked down at Tony, and saw that he was staring transfixed at the dancing flames as they leapt and licked at the firewood.

Reflecting in his eyes, which were so very like her own, she could see the fire; how it flickered and changed colour; yellow, orange, even bits of blue and purple, lapping up at the effigy of Guy Fawkes.

A good way from the bonfire was a long, outdoor kitchen bench holding mounds of piping-hot baked potatoes, their skins burnt to a crisp; cracked and flaking like the pages of an old book, but their insides soft and fluffy and yellow with melted butter.

Beside them was a large tureen of soup; chicken by the smell of it, with steam escaping from the silver flap-up lid, curling up into the sky. Several packets of floury white rolls sat beside it, with stacks of wrapped polystyrene cups and plastic cutlery.

Mounds of sumptuous, moist-looking treacle cake stood on wooden chopping boards, and then at the very end several tin baking trays held rows of toffee apples; the creamy, golden toffee spilling onto the tray and dribbling down the wooden skewers.

There was a small group of people clustered around the bench, messily tucking into the toffee apples and dunking bits of bread into their soup; exchanging compliments and pleasantries as they loitered.

Rose recognised a tallish man with dark hair dressed in a smart black coat carrying a tearful little girl who looked to be about a year younger than Tony.

Beside him stood a pretty dark-skinned woman with a mane of long, glossy black hair, trying to console and cheer up the little girl, who looked so much like her, that she could be no one other than her daughter.

The woman, who was pulling ridiculous faces and blowing raspberries in an attempt to make her laugh, caught Rose's eye and waved cheerily, sticking her tongue out at Tony when she spotted him.

She elbowed the dark-haired man and nodded in Rose and Tony's direction. The man grinned in acknowledgment and jiggled the little girl, who like Tony, was all trussed up in coats and hats like a parcel.

"C'mon," said Rose to Tony. "Let's go and say hello to Lisa and show her how you can breathe like a dragon."

They made their way over to them, Tony hopping alternately, as if he had springs attached to the balls of his feet pulling down on Rose's wrist.

"Tony Tyler!" exclaimed Lisa, bending down slightly so that she could give him a double high-five in greeting.

"Nice hat, mate!" she said, beaming at him. "Very snazzy."

She straightened up and gave Rose a quick hug.

"You on babysitting duty then?" she said, smiling knowingly.

"'Cause I was just talking to your mum before and I _reckon_," she said, dropping her voice a notch. "That she's been sampling the wine…just to make sure it tastes ok."

She gestured to a nearly half-full cup of deep red wine on the wall behind her.

"And so it does!" she said matter-of-factly. "Ianto's driving," she added quickly, jerking a thumb at the man beside her, as if to assure Rose that she was not being irresponsible.

Rose snorted, and waved away her assurances and smiled, gratified as Ianto gave her a peck on the cheek to say hello.

"Lucky you," she said to him in amusement as he raised a sardonic eyebrow at her.

"I've been told that the vintage is _'lush'_ he said dryly," replacing his soft Welsh accent with a London-based English one to mimic Lisa's pronunciation.

"Your mum appears to be ever so slightly sozzled," he informed her.

Rose, who had been cooing and grinning at the little girl in Ianto's arms as she listened, groaned and raised her eyes to the heavens.

"Brilliant," she said sarcastically, with a forced smile, which quite plainly said, 'I-can't-say-I'm-surprised.'

"Bless her," said Lisa, giggling into her words.

Rose smiled, genuinely.

She didn't really mind if her mum had had a bit to drink; she was hilarious when she was drunk.

Started telling funny stories and doing impersonations of everyone from Cher to Anne Robinson, or ended up organising impromptu 'let's sing-along-to-_Abba_' things; anything that took her passing fancy, really.

It did mean though, that she'd be looking after Tony for most of the night…not that she minded of course, she loved him to pieces and could play and prattle on to him for hours.

She'd supply him with endless toffee apples and bit of cake and nab him a few Sparklers, but as soon as his eyelids started drooping and he became a bit whinier; she was less confident.

She was hopeless at putting him to bed because she somehow always managed to get him too hyped-up and excitable; had him singing and jumping around when he was doing his teeth and read him at least five stories, doing all the voices and everything and didn't have the heart to say no to him when he made puppy eyes at her and asked her to stay with him.

She nearly always ended up squashing in beside him and cuddling up until he fell asleep, one pudgy hand usually clasped around her wrist.

No, when it came to bedtime, she was a complete softie, and whenever it fell on her to put Tony to bed, he'd be dog-tired and naughty the next day, making Rose terribly unpopular with Jackie.

She pulled out her mobile from her jeans pocket and checked the time.

Give him another hour and a bit, she thought to herself, and then go and see if she could get Pete to take over. She put her mobile away and returned from her musings, Tony swinging on her arm, like a little monkey.

"Yeah," agreed Rose, fondly. She laughed as the little girl buried her face in Ianto's neck, suddenly shy at the attention.

Little Bridget Jones.

Really.

Ianto Jones, with his twinkly eyes and dry sense of humour and his bubbly, girlfriend Lisa Hallett were the first friends she'd made when she'd joined Torchwood after she became trapped in this universe.

Lisa was a shop-mad, chocoholic Londoner with the largest collection of gorgeous, decidedly non-uniform collection of high heels that Rose had ever seen and Ianto always had a cup of coffee waiting for her and they'd bonded over their shared love of spaghetti hoops, oddly enough.

They were as sweet and genuine as anything and didn't treat her as the new girl, or as the Boss' daughter. They liked her just for herself, just as the Doctor had.

The pair of them had got married of course, and had a baby girl soon after, calling her 'Bridget' after Lisa's mum.

Rose had gaped at them when they'd first told her the name of their daughter, more than a little taken aback, but then, after a quick trawl through the internet she'd discovered that Helen Fielding's _Bridget Jones' Diary_ hadn't been written in this universe.

Probably just as well, really.

"She had a bit of a tantrum as we were leaving the house," Lisa told Rose, taking a sip of her wine before replacing it back on the wall and tucking a long curl behind Bridget's ear, from where it had escaped from under her hat.

"I know, Tony, what's she like, hmm?" she said to him, tutting playfully as Tony began to giggle, still swinging on Rose's arm.

"Ooh, why?" asked Rose mock-darkly, looking from Ianto to Lisa, who were both smirking at each other.

"Didn't want her hat on," supplied Lisa dramatically. "So she's being a right misery guts."

"Wonder where she gets that from," muttered Ianto, staring at the sky, innocently.

"Oi!"

Both Rose and Tony laughed as Lisa smacked Ianto on the arm.

"Anyway," continued Lisa, giving Ianto a warning look. "Where's the Doctor?" she said curiously. "Weird seeing you on your own, innit? Like Robin without Batman," she observed.

"I dunno, actually," admitted Rose, smiling guiltily and swinging Tony's hand in her own.

"That's what me and you are doing, though, isn't it?" she said to him. "We're on a Doctor-hunt?"

"Yeah!" he cried excitedly and jumped around in a full circle, nearly pulling Rose's arm out of her socket.

"_And_ to get a toffee apple," he said imploringly, as if he thought she needed reminding of the offer she'd made to him.

"And to get a toffee apple," she echoed in agreement. She ruffled his hair. "You're as bad as him!"

Tony stuck his tongue out at her. Rose copied him.

Lisa shook her head at them and an amused-sounding gruff male voice said from behind them, "You know, I despair at my kids, sometimes."

A slightly balding, middle-aged man with brown eyes, identical to Rose and Tony's, and a boyish smile appeared at Rose's elbow.

Pete Tyler.

With and excited yell of "Daddy!" at a volume that could shatter glass, Tony dropped Rose's hand and threw himself at Pete, who picked him up with a loud 'oof!' and swung him round like a windmill.

"Hello, Trouble," said Pete to Tony, fondly.

"What's Rose got you wearing, eh?" he said, critically, with a wink at Rose to show he was joking, pulling Tony's hat down over his eyes.

He let Tony slide down, gently and he put an arm around Rose, giving her a one-armed hug. "Alright love?" he said to her, as she grinned up at him, tongue between her teeth.

"Yep,"

"Mr. Tyler," said Ianto respectfully, leaning forward to shake his hand. Lisa did the same, with a warm, "Evening, sir."

Pete grinned and waved at Bridget before turning back to Rose.

"No arguments?" he asked, nodding discreetly down at his son, who was fidgeting with the zip of his coat.

"Mmh. Not really," she said, making a dismissive, 'you-know-what-he's-like' sort of gesture, which Pete smirked at.

"I thought you were supposed to be 'helping' with the fireworks?" she said pointedly, doing her best to keep her expression innocent. He was dressed like Ianto, in a black coat, but with thick gloves.

"They said I'd been helpful enough," he said sheepishly, going slightly red and shrugging half-heartedly.

"Meaning you don't know a thing about assembling fireworks and were getting in their way?" suggested Rose cheekily, pursing her lips to stop herself from giggling at her dad's affronted expression.

"Something like that, yeah... I was _thinking_," he said quickly, determined to move the conversation on and stop Rose smiling smugly, looking just like Jackie. "They've brought some Sparklers out round the front," he offered, glancing round at them all, but at Tony in particular.

"If you want to come and have a go?"

"Ooohhh _Sparklers_! Yes please!" said Tony, his eyes lighting up, but then he seemed to think better of it, his face falling as he turned to look at Rose. "Can I still have a toffee apple?" he asked alarmed, as if his favourite toys were being threatened.

Rose smiled at his crestfallen expression and bent down, squeezing his cheeks gently to make him smile.

"Course you can!" she said indignantly, as if the notion of him _not_ having a toffee apple was completely absurd.

"You can have one when you come back. I'll save you one, yeah?" she suggested, a thought occurring to her.

Wherever he'd got to…if she was going to find him anywhere, it'd be beside the toffee apples, as sure as night followed day.

She just had a feeling. Like, knowing that the best way to get into her mum's good books was to make her a cup of tea; like the best way of handling Tony was to mention the Doctor…

Tony peered at her suspiciously. "Are you not coming to do the Sparkler thingies?" he asked, sounding disappointed.

Rose's stomach gave a slight squeeze at his face.

"If I come with you," she said softly, crouching down in front of him and pulling on the tassels of his hat. "Who's going to keep an eye on the toffee apples and make sure there's one left for you?"

Tony considered this. Rose could almost hear the cogs of his three-year old mind whirring.

"Ok," he said simply, nodding earnestly. "Yeah."

Pete looked at Ianto and Lisa for their response.

"Oh, count me in!" said Lisa happily. "I love sparklers, I do!" she picked up her cup of wine with one hand and looped her other through Ianto's free arm. "Come on Ianto!"

Ianto rolled his eyes at Rose as he was frog-marched past.

"'Keeping an eye on the toffee apples,'" he chided her. "Waiting for a certain _someone_, more like it."

"_Ahh_," said Lisa, eyes glittering wickedly as she cottoned on, a little too late, looking back over her shoulder at Rose. "Yeah, you tell your Mr. Batman we said hello, ok, Robin?"

"Mr. _Batman_?" repeated Rose, sounding appalled, wrinkling her nose at the thought of calling the Doctor anything other than 'Doctor.' Ooh, and she liked how she was being pigeon-holed as the side-kick!

It was like people referring to her as his 'assistant', when she used to travel with him. It had made her cringe.

"Maybe you're just 'Rose'," he'd said thoughtfully to her, once; when they'd been investigating a naval cruiser that had been sunk in the North Sea…and she'd liked that a lot better.

To a lot of people, she was the daughter of the Head of Torchwood; to others, a mysterious blonde woman who had crossed parallel universes or a brave human girl who had traveled with a Time Lord or a pink and yellow thing defending the planet or…a working-class London shop girl with a wide smile, smart mouth and heart of gold.

Bad Wolf. Stuff of Legend…whatever.

To the Doctor, she was Rose.

Just Rose.

Something. _Something_ about her had made the Doctor want to spend the rest of his life with her.

Had made the fact that he now only had the remaining lifespan of a stupid _ape_, a little bit easier. Something. She just wished she knew what…

She waved and bounced up and down on her toes, crossing her arms across her chest in a futile attempt to conserve body heat as she watched Pete and the others squeeze through a wooden side-gate round the side of the house to get to the front, Tony looking back at her concernedly, as if to check that she was still there; guarding the toffee apples.

He smiled uncertainly as she caught his eye, plainly wishing that she was coming, too.

"Go on," she mouthed, cajolingly, nodding to the gate.

She gave him her biggest grin and then sucked in her cheeks, like a fish; a face he always found desperately funny.

Sure enough, his giggles floated back to her as he rounded the corner and out of her sight, looking a lot chirpier.

She jumped; startled as there was a loud, screeching bang up above and an explosion of coloured patterns scrawled themselves across the sky.

The first firework had been set off, and squinting over at the lawn, she could make out men dressed in high-visibility coats darting backwards and forwards, urging the small crowd to stay well back.

There was no one milling around the bench now; it seemed nearly everyone had drifted over to the edge of the lawn, leaving the stacks of apples, potatoes and cakes unattended.

She shivered, despite her warm coat and scarf, the cold air whipping at her face, reddening her cheeks and nose.

Her breath clouding in front of her, she wandered over to the bench, dragging her feet slightly on the concrete slabs that ran around the perimeter of the house before sloping down gently onto the grass.

Her loose hair blew across her eyes; the slight wind blowing it in an awkward direction and she swiped it away impatiently as she stood in front of the toffee apples, scrutinizing them carefully, as if looking for spoils.

Her fingers danced over the skewers as she tried to select one she liked the look of, like a little girl mithering over which sweets to buy on her way home from school.

She picked one up, prising it from the sticky baking tray, where the thick toffee clung to the apple like glue, and nibbled at it cautiously.

It was sweet; almost to the point of being sickly and she made a face, but picked another one up anyway; the skewers sticky, the weight of the apple unbalanced.

She spotted a spare paper plate, on which she lay the two toffee apples and carried it over to the low wall where Lisa had Ianto had been standing before.

Balancing the plate on the wall beside her, she sat down and swung her legs round agilely and shifted so that she was more comfortable, the brickwork hard and cold, like marble beneath her.

She sat in a pondering silence as fireworks spluttered above her, flashes of orange and pink lights illuminating her face every so often; grey, hazy smoke being left behind, scenting the air.

Rose looked over at the people congregated on the other side of the lawn, craning their necks up at the sky, fruitlessly flapping their hands at the air as if to clear it.

She sniffed at the sleeve of her coat uneasily. It had taken on the smell of the smoky bonfire and burnt sulphur that made her eyes water and caused something to catch at the back of her throat.

She could also make out the faint, orangey-vanilla scent of her own perfume. It would have to be shoved in the wash after this; she didn't fancy going round smelling like a kipper factory, thanks.

She swung her legs backwards and forwards alternately, like a child, making _clacking_ noises as the back of her heels clipped the wall.

She was all right, sitting on her own. Years ago, before she'd met the Doctor, she would have hated it; would have felt panicky and over-exposed, would have worried about being an easy target for some weirdo to come up to you and try to nick your bag or something.

Not now, though.

She'd spent the best part of last year crossing dimensions on her own, looking for the Doctor, with only her thoughts and old memories keeping her going.

She didn't particularly like it, nor did she have to either, but she was completely at ease with sitting on her own; she didn't feel as if she were sticking out like a sore thumb.

Having been pushed out of her comfort zone, not having the Doctor to defer to, she'd become more independent, more confident, slightly less forgiving, harder; much more her own woman.

That was the thing about sitting on you own, though; it made you think; twirl things over and over in your mind; chew over problems, day dream about the most mundane of things…like the smell clinging to her sleeve.

Plonked on the wall like Humpty Dumpty, thoughts swarming through her head; a soup of ideas an recollections tugging at her sub-conscious, she'd sunk into such a deep stupor, thinking about a bonfire night when she was about thirteen, when she'd held hands with Mickey and he'd written her name in the air with his Sparkler and she'd laughed and smacked him on the arm because he'd spelt her name R-O-Z-E, that she hadn't heard the registered the footsteps behind her, or that someone was speaking to her.

She jumped, inhaling sharply, her hand flying to her chest, as she heard a male voice, chatting away at forty miles an hour.

"…by this nice old man called Billy Kolb in 1908," the voice was saying.

"Entirely by accident! Though I think I prefer _toffee_, to cinnamon."

The man said 'cinnamon' with distaste, emphasizing the 'cin,' and she could almost hear him wrinkling his nose, as if cinnamon were some sort of poison.

"Still!" continued the man enthusiastically, "the idea's still fundamentally _brilliant_…like those birthday cards which have Queen Lizzy screeching 'Happy Birthday!' at you like some sort of _seagull _when you open them!"

Rose's face lit up, a smile stretched from ear to ear as she recognised the voice.

She didn't turn around, though; instead she picked up the plate of toffee apples beside her and held it out to her left.

"Toffee Apple?" she offered brightly, in the same way as she had once presented him with a ball-bearing cake, grinning fondly.

"'Cause I've got one spare?"

The balance of the plate shifted as one of the toffee apples was removed and she, too, decided to pick up the bitten toffee apple she'd abandoned.

There was a flurry of movement beside her; a flash of light and dark brown clothing, a flapping of material as the Doctor jumped with both feet onto the wall and then did a seat-drop down beside her.

"Hello!" he said cheerfully around a mouthful of toffee apple, looking positively delighted to see her.

Typical Doctor behaviour; she hadn't seen him for hours and then he just manically popped up like a cartoon, a bundle of fast-paced energy, complete with Converse, a slightly crumpled suit and fantastically messed-up hair.

"Hello!" she smiled back, her eyes crinkling, equally happy that he'd joined her.

"Where did you disappear off to?" she said good-naturedly, so that he knew that she hadn't minded and wasn't nagging.

The Doctor waved his toffee apple vaguely.

"Ohh…here, there and everywhere," he said cryptically, snapping her a wink.

Rose shuffled along on her bum so that she was closer to him, her arm pressed against his

"Tony was looking for you," Rose informed him.

"We'd set up a 'Doctor and Toffee Apple Hunt'," she confided in him, prodding him with her elbow.

The Doctor, who had acknowledged her movement with a smile, caught her eye and the pair of them laughed.

The Doctor shook his head and looked down at his pinstriped knees.

"You know," he said in amusement. "I've been hunted by all manner of dreadful things." His smile faded slightly and he became suddenly serious. "Daleks, the Family of Blood, Krillitanes, Torchwood, the Master…but never by a three year old boy!"

Rose, whose own smile had vanished, her eyes becoming stony and grave at the preoccupied, slightly haunted look in the Doctor's eyes as he had recited the list, perked up as the Doctor's lips curled at the thought of Rose's little brother looking for him.

"Fiercest of the lot?" she prompted him, wryly.

"Oh, definitely," the Doctor teased, smirking at her.

"I'm being serious," Rose implored him, her eyes wide.

"He's exactly the same as I was- the only way I could get him to put his coat on was to tell him that you were wearing yours!" she said, plucking at the sleeve of his coat, the material coarse and rough between her fingers.

The Doctor gaped at her for a second then frowned, as if trying to process this and all its implications.

Eventually he beamed, letting out a quiet 'Awh,' looking quite touched, and pleased with himself.

"You haven't seen my mum have you?" asked Rose, stretching her legs out straight in front of her so that they hung horizontally in the air, peering at the toes of her boots.

"Little and blonde? Voice like a foghorn? Hell of a slap on her?" mused the Doctor innocently, pulling on his ear.

"Think I might vaguely know who she is, yeah," he said thoughtfully, bumping Rose's shoulder with his.

Rose snorted.

"No, no, I mean have you seen her _tonight_? You know, when you were 'here there and everywhere,'" she said, turning to look at him and taking a bite out of her toffee apple.

"Nope," replied the Doctor airily, popping his 'P.'

"Oh right…I was just wondering, 'cause Ianto said she was a bit drunk, that's all," said Rose matter-of-factly, swallowing her mouthful of apple as she waited for the Doctor's reaction.

He very nearly spat out his own apple.

He looked mildly horrified, his eyes widening in alarm.

"What?" he said bluntly, looking intently at Rose, as if checking to see if she was winding him up.

It appeared that she wasn't. He fidgeted uncomfortably and ran a hand through his already messy hair.

Rose giggled at him; he looked like he had done every time he'd taken her back to the Powell Estate to see her mum and she'd kissed him and hugged him like a nightmarish old auntie.

Oncoming Storm and all that; he could defeat armies and malevolent races without so much as a flicker of an eyelid…but the prospect of a drunk Jackie? Useless!

"I'll just…avoid her," he promised her flippantly, but not sounding very convincing.

"Nah," said Rose, linking her arm through his, feeling slightly sorry for the Doctor, who looked extremely ill at ease.

"She'll be too busy gossiping and circulating for all that 'Ohh Doctor, you're so handsome, yes you are, you're lovely' sort of stuff," laughing with her head tilted back.

She'd put on a scarily good imitation of her mum, fawning over the Doctor, words slurred, eyes unfocused, mouth slack, leaning close to him like a drunkard.

The Doctor shrugged her off, laughing and went back to his toffee apple.

"_Well_," he said, as if deliberating a point.

"If it were anyone _else_ telling me I was handsome and lovely…" he said cheekily, waggling his eyebrows at her.

Rose gave him a shove. "Eat your toffee apple," she ordered, trying to sound dignified, but her eyes were twinkling.

The Doctor tutted and Rose got to her feet carefully, using the Doctor's arm to help herself up, suddenly restless.

The wall was not a wide one, nor was it too high, but seeing as Pete had a tiered garden, if she were to fall off it, she'd fall into the rockery.

Which might hurt.

She tiptoed along the wall like a gymnast on a beam, until the very end, where she swiveled and made her way back over to the Doctor.

He had watched her retreat with interest, a small smile playing at his lips as she fearlessly hopped and jumped, a mischievous glint in her eye, enjoying herself, still carrying her toffee apple.

If she was aware that she had captivated the Doctor's attention, she did not show it and arched her eyebrows at him as she came to stand beside him, towering above him where he sat, so that he had to look up at her.

"I was just wondering," she started, a teasing lilt to her voice, as if she already knew the answer, but was going to string him along anyway, a knowing smirk firmly in place.

"If this had anything to do with you?"

She waved a hand at the sky, where fireworks were exploding nineteen to the dozen, popping and banging so that both of them had had to raise their voices.

The Doctor looked up at the sky, chewing quizzically.

"What? The sky?" he said incredulously, sounding bewildered.

"The sky's got nothing to do with me, Rose," he said frankly. "Even I'm not that…"

"No, no, not the sky," said Rose impatiently, talking over him.

She jabbed a finger at the sky again.

"I meant the _fireworks_," she explained, still with a maddening grin on her face. "_Bonfire_ night. Has Bonfire Night got anything to do with you?"

The Doctor took another bite of his toffee apple, eating solemnly.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean, Miss. Tyler," he said delicately, evidently trying to keep his face neutral, but, his eyes told her a different story.

They were playful; brown and intense, laughing with her.

"Remember, remember the fifth of November; Gunpowder, Treason and Plot," recited Rose flatly, as if reeling off her times tables, having been taught the rhyme at primary school.

"Some blokes tried to blow up the Houses of Parliament in the 1600's or something."

"1605," confirmed the Doctor patiently, looking up at Rose, as if wondering where she was going with this…though he had a very good inkling, actually.

"Yeah, so…Guy Fawkes and his lot tried to kill James What's-his-face…"

"James the First," supplied the Doctor.

"But they got caught," continued Rose frowning as she thought, but nodding her thanks at the Doctor for his input.

"They discovered barrels of gunpowder in the cellar beneath the House of Comm.."

"House of Lords," corrected the Doctor gently.

"Yeah; the gunpowder was discovered, plot was foiled and the Houses of Parliament stayed standing," he summarized, sighing.

"And what do you lot do to celebrate every fifth of November?" he said critically, gazing up at the fireworks.

"Set fire to pyrotechnic compounds, build a whopping great bonfire and eat toffee apples," he said dryly, shaking his head with a grin. "Barking!"

Rose ignored this slur on her species, which actually, were partly his species now, too if she thought about it, and pressed on.

"Yes but, they discovered Guy Fawkes 'cause they were _tipped off_," she insisted, looking down at the Doctor half-sternly, half-amused,

"Established history clearly states that Lord Monteagle received a letter, giving details of the conspiracy," said the Doctor furtively, purposefully dodging the subject, a roguish shine in his eyes.

He spoke like a teacher, giving a history lecture, as if that closed the matter.

"It's 'cause of you that established history happens, anyway," insisted Rose, expression earnest.

"Really?" said the Doctor, innocently. "Me?"

"Doctor!" squealed Rose in frustration, stamping her foot and laughing.

"C'mon, tell me!" she pleaded, making the same eyes at him as she had used when she'd persuaded him to let her see her dad when they'd first landed in this parallel universe with Mickey.

The Doctor sighed as he looked up at her, the stubbornness around his mouth melting, leaving him looking resigned.

He tugged on his ear, as if disbelieving of himself that Rose could have such an effect on him.

Rose grinned, seeing by his face, that she'd won him over.

"I might have…put certain things into effect," admitted the Doctor reluctantly, putting down his toffee apple and leaning forward to rest his chin on his hands.

Rose pursed her lips and kept quiet, listening to him raptly, her hair blowing around her face as she stood still.

"Lord Monteagle may not have received a letter as _such_," continued the Doctor, looking at her appraisingly.

"And Guy Fawkes may or may not have been err…strictly human," concluded the Doctor, in a manner that reminded of Tony when he was admitting to doing something wrong (like pushing his jam sandwich in the DVD player) and trying to wheedle himself out of trouble.

"Guy Fawkes was an alien?" said Rose, aghast, momentarily thrown by this new information, though she supposed that, seeing as the Doctor was concerned it would be foolish to assume anything different.

"Slitheen," said the Doctor darkly, and they shared a fleeting grimace, no doubt remembering Rose's experiences in Downing Street and Cardiff.

"On his own, actually. Wanted to bring down the government and convert Earth into some sort of Raxacoricofallapatorian leisure resort," he said in disgust, though with pity lacing through his words, as if he were genuinely disappointed that the Slitheen had acted so foolishly; as if he expected them to know better.

He sighed disparagingly and glanced at Rose, waiting for her to comment.

"And you stopped him?" probed Rose.

The Doctor nodded sagely.

"The failure of the Gunpowder Plot is a fixed point in history; I had to stop him."

He looked over at the bonfire, at the dark mass of burning clothes resembling Guy Fawkes, with what appeared to be shame, and Rose followed his gaze.

"But I couldn't save him," he said regretfully, his face closing up, becoming broody.

"He was hanged," remembered Rose softly.

She looked back over at the bonfire. If all these people knew what had _really_ happened…she shook her head.

It was not worth contemplating; she'd only give herself a headache.

She chucked her toffee apple in the direction of the paper plate and bent down, taking the Doctor's 'manly, hairy hand' in hers and pulling him up to his feet.

The Doctor looked surprised at the pull on his hand, as if he were momentarily unsure of where it was coming from, but his perplexity evaporated as Rose smiled down at him encouragingly, and he sprung to his feet like a Jack in the Box.

The pair of them stood hand-in-hand for a second, exchanging identical grins before Rose corrected their grasp, interlacing her cold fingers through the Doctor's, huddling against him for warmth as they looked at the fireworks in companionable silence.

"You've brought down the government before, haven't you?" she asked gently, with such no-nonsense normality that it was as if she were asking him if he would like a banana.

"You said something once…when we were fighting those Quevvil things about bringing down the government again, if Britain had tea restrictions, do you remember?" she said fondly, feeling warmly nostalgic.

"So I did," grinned the Doctor, a reminiscent glint in his eye.

"Oh…the year 3345, that was. Started another revolt," he told her, looking oddly pleased with himself.

"Not sure if I'll be invited back to Lady Matilda of Greenwich's house again, though," he added as an afterthought.

He looked down at Rose, who had narrowed her eyes at him, suspiciously.

"She had errr, very nice…china," he said flatly, looking anywhere but at Rose.

"_Lovely_!" he attempted. "Pink willow patterns and…and cream scones," he finished weakly, seeing that his back-pedaling wasn't really getting him anywhere.

Rose continued to look stern, her eyebrows raised, before she rolled her eyes at him, smiling at his gibbering. The Doctor, shot a sidelong glance at her, looking very relieved.

Pulling the sleeves of her coat down over her free hand, she clutched at her scarf, pulling it up and over her chin, her teeth chattering in the cold.

The Doctor, feeling her shivering against him, peered at her concernedly.

"You cold?" he asked, sounding either surprised or reproachful. Perhaps both.

Rose gave him a look that plainly said, 'What-does-it-look-like?'

"Feel like an icicle," she confirmed, bristly, watching her breath cloud.

"It was colder the night Titanic sank, believe me," the Doctor assured her, but nevertheless, he let go of her hand and pulled her against him, an arm going around her shoulder.

Rose, slid her arm around his waist, resting her head against his shoulder, gratefully.

"Thanks," she said, her voice muffled in his shoulder, as he shifted her so that she was standing almost in front of him, his unfastened coat wrapped around them both.

They fell quiet, Rose breathing in his familiar, comforting smell; mint and soap, tea and Time.

She could feel his chest rising and falling gently as he breathed in and out, in sync with her; could hear the steady thumping of his single heart. The Doctor held her tightly, resting his chin on top of her head.

After a while, she felt him take a breath, as if he were about to say something, but then changed his mind, swallowing.

"Rose," he tried again, his breath warm, tickling her scalp.

"The TARDIS is finished," he said softly, his low voice reverberating through her. It seemed that he had been waiting for the right moment to tell her; his words hung in the air, unsurely.

Rose stiffened and pulled away from him slightly so she could look up at him properly.

Her light brown eyes met darker ones, intense and searching, gauging her reaction.

There was such a vulnerability in them; such fear and chilly dread, as if he was afraid of upsetting her, afraid of her rejection, but also a spark of hope, too; a hint of excitement and triumph, which he was holding back on, until he was _sure_ of what she wanted…

"What?" she breathed, not being able to take her eyes off him, hardly able to believe her ears; fighting to control a jolt of pure joy, disbelief and awe that had leapt in her chest at his words, her ripple of pleasure trickling down her spine.

There was a buzzing in her ears and she blinked, dazedly, gripping the Doctor's arm tightly.

"What did you say?" she whispered again, hardly daring to _hope_…

"I," began the Doctor uncertainly, his voice catching in his throat. "

The TARDIS is fully-grown," he said hesitantly, staring into the pools of Rose's wide, too-shiny eyes. "She's ready; she's working but…I didn't know if you'd want…"

"Want what?" urged Rose, breathing heavily, feeling quite light-headed.

She stared imploringly at the Doctor, at the nervousness in his face, the pleading love in his eyes.

He looked so uncertain, so doubtful, so pained, it caused a lump to rise in her throat, a dull ache in the pit of her stomach.

"To come with me," he finished shakily, his eyebrows down-turned; mouth thin.

His voice rose in question at the end. "We could…" he broke off, leaving his sentence unfinished and swallowed again. "I mean…if you want?"

He sounded the same as he had done on the beach. "I've only got one life, Rose Tyler. I could spend it with you…if you want?"

He'd been so uncertain, asking her if _he_ was what she wanted.

The thought that he'd had to _ask_ her, that he hadn't _known_…he'd made himself vulnerable; checking that she still wanted to be with him, still loved him and it had completely broken her heart, seeing him like that because of _course_ she did.

When Rose stayed silent, he forced a smile on his face, pushed bravado into his voice.

"Right," he said quietly.

"Right. Yeah…I shouldn't have asked…That's fine!" he said, trying to sound convincingly bright and cheery, as if he was indifferent, his voice too high-pitched, his eyes upset and downcast.

"You've got a proper family now, of course you don't want to…"

A fat tear brimmed up over Rose's eyelids and trickled slowly down her cheek at the hurt and despondence in his voice, but before it could drip off her chin, she'd pulled the Doctor to her by the lapels of his coat and pressed her lips to his passionately.

She felt the Doctor smile against her mouth; fleetingly surprised but no less pleased, before he kissed her back with equal vigour; lips soft and tender, arms folding around her waist, pulling her closer in a kiss that was surged with unmistakable relief and utter joy and the giddy delight that they were together again.

They broke apart and Rose hugged him with such urgent force that the pair of them nearly toppled off the wall, Rose's nose running, her face flushed and pink as she gave a dry, happy sob into the Doctor's shoulder.

The Doctor grinned widely and hugged her back, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"Was that a 'yes?'" he murmured, in her ear, wryly amused.

Rose gently disentangled herself and looked at him; eyes darting all over his face, taking in his buoyant expression, eager eyes and angular good looks.

She reached up and brushed away a wet patch of her own tears from the Doctor's chiseled cheekbones with her thumb.

She bit her lower lip, tugging at it with her teeth in delight and nodded, slowly.

"Yeah, it was a yes," she confirmed happily.

"Yes!" she crowed, flinging her arms around the Doctor again and swaying on the spot.

The Doctor let out a shout of triumphant laughter and he lifted her off her feet in his enthusiasm, leaving her legs dangling down.

She let out a girlish shriek and demanded to be put down, breathless with hysterical, happy giggles.

He set her back down on her feet and she beamed up at him, her mouth still trembling, but her smile bigger than he had ever seen it, wiping her watery eyes with her fingertips.

"You taste like toffee," she told him, impishly.

"So do you!" he quipped, kissing her quickly on the lips, as if to prove his point.

"Is that where you were, then?" asked Rose, swiping hair away from her forehead where it was getting in her eyes.

A silky lock fluttered over her nose, smelling of smoke, like her coat. "Checking on the TARDIS?"

She sounded the tiniest bit put out.

"Yeah," admitted the Doctor bashfully, rubbing his eye, as he did whenever he was particularly, embarrassed or uncomfortable.

Only Rose knew, though she suspected that Jackie might have guessed, that the Doctor was growing a TARDIS in a disused wine cellar beneath the Tyler mansion.

Nestled amongst dusty bottles of expensive champagne and untouched exercise equipment that Jackie had bought on impulse just after Tony had been born, with the intent of shifting her baby weight, and a mess of thousands of wires, switches and clumps of coral was a time machine.

The Doctor had been labouring away at it happily, like a small boy playing with Lego, ever since he'd arrived, sitting cross-legged on the concrete floor frowning over impossible-looking equations and Gallifreyan symbols, being supplied with tea, bananas, and chips by Rose.

He had started the day after they'd returned from Norway, with Rose watching silently; still upset, angry, unsure but at the same time completely elated, from just inside the doorway.

They'd pussyfooted round each other like complete strangers, tentative and cautious. Both the Doctor and Rose had changed immeasurably since they'd been separated at the Battle of Canary Wharf; driven by grief, loneliness; a new hardness, and everything else that had happened since…

Rose's memories of him from that day at Torchwood; him gently shifting her out of the TARDIS doorway, being too carefree and reckless about having the moral high ground; pedantically correcting the Daleks, when they'd called his Sonic Screwdriver a 'sonic probe'; laughing in indignation as he refused to open the Genesis Ark; joking about her mum…were of a different man.

He'd lost some of his cockiness; some of the twinkle in his eyes; he seemed so much older.

She'd supposed she had changed too, to him; definitely sadder; less bubbly and youthful.

If neither of them were completely the same person the other had grieved over, how could their relationship be the same? How could they _work_?

Fighting back tears, Rose had tormented herself with these thoughts as she'd observed him, frowning down at his work, until the Doctor had sighed and stretched out a hand to her, palm pointing upwards.

"This isn't calibrating," he tutted, giving a circuit board a dirty look, as if wondering how it could dare to misbehave. "Gum," he ordered, wiggling his fingers. "Ta."

Without even thinking about it, Rose had automatically spat her chewing gum into his waiting hand and the Doctor had used it like putty; sticking together copper pipes and switches.

It was only after he had smoothed the chewing gum into place that he looked up at her, slowly, taken aback.

Rose had stared back at him, blushing.

In all the time that they'd been apart, he had never asked for used chewing gum to aid his repairs; it was a little quirk that was uniquely theirs and he'd simply held his hand out to her as if it was the most natural thing in the world, as if it were a daily habit, and Rose had obliged him without hesitation.

The Doctor hadn't even realised what he was doing.

But that was it.

A tiny incident that had assured them that they were as brilliantly in-tune with each other as they ever had been, that had made the Doctor give a smile as big as the one he had worn when he first saw her after so long apart, walking towards him with an oversized gun on a wrecked street.

Rose had sat down cross-legged beside him, and they'd began to talk; gradually filling the other in on everything that had happened in the past three years, and ever so gently falling back in love. Though, perhaps that wasn't quite right. Because neither of them had really stopped…

"Wait a minute, how d'you know it's ready?" asked Rose after blowing on her hands to warm them up, cottoning on to what the Doctor had said.

The Doctor raised his eyebrows in an expression that unmistakably said, 'Because-I'm-just-brilliant' and took her hands in his; chafing some warmth into her icicle-like fingers.

"I checked," he said simply, looking tickled at her confusion.

He dropped her hands and pulled out a brightly coloured A5 piece of folded paper from his pocket; presenting her with it as if it were a golden ticket from _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_, with a smile that could melt stone.

Fingers feeling arthritic and achey with the cold as she struggled to undo the sharply creased folds, she eventually opened the piece of paper out and stared down at it in marvel.

There was a slight pang of coiled excitement and a rush of adrenaline, not unlike the rush of giddiness that she used to feel whenever the Doctor had taken her to a new planet and she stepped out of the TARDIS doors for the first time, as she read the piece of paper.

Royal blue with richly-coloured pictures of racing cars, games consoles, birthday cake, TV sets, footballs and bars of chocolate.

The writing emblazoned across it was black and bubbly; detailing times, places and familiar names.

It was an invitation to Tony Tyler's eighth birthday.

Rose counted on her fingers; _five_ years away.

She pulled a face, trying to picture the three year old who was always full of beans, and followed her around like a devoted puppy, turning eight.

She couldn't do it.

It was like, when you were younger, trying to imagine what you'd look like as an adult, and it just seemed so utterly impossible, as if you'd have a clear complexion, gappy teeth and small hands for ever.

"You went to Tony's birthday party?" asked Rose skeptically, turning the invitation over in her hands, as if checking for a watermark.

"Flying visit," the Doctor defended himself airily.

" Said hello, complimented your mum on her new nose job as best as I could…"

"My mum's new _what_?!"

The Doctor snorted at the fierce, gob-smacked look on Rose's face.

"Kidding," he said innocently, flinching away from her playfully to get out of her hitting range.

"Where d'you say I was, then?" said Rose, planting her hands on her hips and looking at him appraisingly.

"Your head's still on your shoulders so you obviously didn't tell my mum you'd left me _behind_, five years earlier," she said sarcastically, giving him a sharp prod in the arms with a miffed roll of her eyes.

"Oh, I dunno," he said dismissively, shrugging.

"I said something about leaving your bonnet in the TARDIS…"

"My…?"

"I'm sure you'd look very fetching in a bonnet," said the Doctor firmly.

"Anyway…she was very err…_illuminating_, your mum. As ever."

He took the invitation from her and stuffed it back in his pocket before offering Rose his elbow, letting her loop her arm through it.

"Why, what did she say?" asked Rose, with a 'oh-this'll-be-good' sort of laugh, looking enquiringly at the Doctor as he stared up at the exploding fireworks in the sky, thoughtfully.

"Hmm?" he tore his eyes away from the sky and looked at her, like a swimmer surfacing after being under water for a long time.

He seemed slightly dazed, as if whatever he had been thinking about, had metaphorically walloped him around the head with one of Jackie's industrial-sized pans.

There was also a glint in his eye that Rose couldn't quite place.

"Time doesn't follow a line," he mused, eyes raking over her hairline and the curve of her nose to her soft cheeks and strong jaw.

"It's like a big ball of…timey wimey stuff," he reminded her, though Rose got the slightest impression that he was reminding himself, too.

She listened, not unaccustomed to the Doctor's radical subject changes; he tended to leap and jolt from this and that; his mind working at a ridiculously fast speed and she'd learned to hold her tongue whenever he went into impromptu rambling which really had nothing to do with the question being asked.

"It's in flux," he carried on pensively; his wild hair lifting in the breeze, like hers. "Constantly changing. Events could change…"

"This got something to do with whatever it was my mum was 'illuminating' about at Tony's party?" guessed Rose, sighing and resting her head on his shoulder again to look up at the fireworks.

"Look, don't worry about it. She comes out with some right rubbish at times. You can't listen to a middle-aged woman who dances round with a mop, pretending to be Madonna when she's been on the wine," Rose assured him flatly.

"You never have before, so don't start now, yeah?"

The Doctor opened his mouth to argue, looking highly affronted, as if to recall a time when he _had_ listened to Jackie…but couldn't think of one.

Not off the top of his head. He was sure there was one, though.

Must be.

Rose elbowed him. "When we gonna go?" she asked, sounding like a little child on a car journey; impatiently excited.

The Doctor had given this some thought.

Several seconds of it, in fact, and he had come to the conclusion that Jackie would murder him with a _hairdryer _or something if Rose was away at Christmas, and that Tony would be heartbroken if he didn't get to decorate the Christmas tree and make glitter-glue cards and wind himself up into a frenzy with Rose in the weeks leading up to Christmas…_and_ something always happened on Earth on Christmas Day, anyway.

The Sycorax, the Racnoss, Titanic…pointless traveling across the universe attracting trouble, when trouble would arrive gift-wrapped on the doorstep.

And, actually; he'd quite liked spending Christmas day with Rose, just after he'd regenerated; eating Jackie's slightly rubbery turkey; pulling limp crackers and wearing those fantastic paper hats…

"I was thinking," said the Doctor, pulling on his ear.

"Just after Christmas? That way, you can do all your human stuff like hanging bits of plastic on fake trees and singing songs, and watching the _Eastenders_ special where someone always dies…or gets run over…and they argue and Peggy Mitchell says something about her 'faaaaamily,' and _then_, as soon as the January sales start and everyone goes really grumpy 'cause they've got no money and they're going on _diets_ we can tootle off to Orion 4 and have a nice argument with the locals about ginger beer and potted meat."

Rose laughed at his deadpan humour and pretended to think about it.

Cautiously, she let go of him and skirted round so that she was standing behind him on the wall, the heels of the boots only millimeters away from the smooth edge.

"But which way will we _go_?" she said, sounding mock-scandalised, like an interfering, maidenly old woman from a period drama.

She slipped her arms under and through his and gave him a backwards hug, resting her chin affectionately on his shoulder.

The Doctor turned his head to smirk at her.

"That way," he said at random, pointing at a star which had moments before been engulfed by a particularly loud rocket.

"That way?" echoed Rose, beginning to giggle at how warm and familiar this was, yet _different_ at the same time.

"No, hang on," said the Doctor, appearing to change his mind, being typically awkward.

He pointed somewhere to the left of his original choice and squinted at it, before nodding confidently.

"_That_ way."

"That way. Right," confirmed Rose, leaning forwards to press a kiss to his cool cheek.

She could imagine the familiar, low hum of the TARDIS around her; the dusty smell of Time and electricity in the control room; the coughing and spluttering of the TARDIS' engine as she materialised; the dull creaking as the doors swung inwards and there was a small pain of longing and nostalgia in her chest.

She wanted to go _now_; go off gallivanting round the universe, drinking beef-flavoured drinks and eating sky rays and running for her life with the Doctor; her hand held tightly in his, surging with terrified energy.

She wanted to laugh with him about new, ridiculous-sounding words and aliens until she went horribly red, like a lobster and cried tears of mirth, and she wanted to see new planets; different coloured skies; weird traditions; she wanted to _save_ worlds and travel back in time and wear old clothes and dance around like a mad thing.

But then, she had a sudden, burning memory of Tony, bursting through the door as he came home from nursery with all the force of a hurricane, shouting an excited 'hello!' and throwing his dreaded coat on the stairs before scampering around the house to find Rose and throwing himself at her so hard that she nearly fell over.

He'd clambered onto her knee, getting muddy marks all over her trousers and grinned at her; all tiny milk teeth, pink chubby cheeks and shining eyes, and given her a sloppy kiss on the cheek, thrilled to see her after being away all day.

Next came Jackie, shuffling into her room on a Saturday morning with a huge mug of tea and a plate of hot drippy-butter crumpets, avoiding discarded articles of clothing and open magazines to place her breakfast on her bedside table, waking her up gently and moaning at the state of her room, despairing over the fact that she still lived like a messy teenager.

Then to Pete; grinning cheekily, making a right royal mess of the kitchen as the pair of them had attempted to make toad-in-the-hole with mashed potato and gravy, one Sunday afternoon; laughing at her and mimicking her high-pitched girlish screams as she moaned and squirmed at having to touch raw meat.

Singing along to the radio as she mashed up lumpy potato and Pete shoved overly milky Yorkshire puddings into the oven.

She reached for the Doctor's hand shakily and entwined their fingers, remembering the freezing shot of agony that had rippled through her and the dread that had built up in her stomach as she'd crossed into that hopelessly wrong parallel world and Donna had told her that a man called the Doctor was dead; remembering the sheer ecstasy that had taken over her that dark, miserable night as she spotted a blue box in the distance and picked out a tall, slender man beside it, and she'd started sprinting as fast as she could towards him; relief, joy and pent-up longing making her feel light-headed, causing thick tears to blur her vision.

The day that she'd lost him, at Torchwood Towers, after he'd sent her away to be with her family, she'd come back, even though she'd _known_ that she was never going to see her mum again, and she'd stood in front of him, angry tears in her eyes, and told him shakily that she had made her mind up a long time ago and she was _never_ going to leave him.

The Doctor, seeming to sense something was not quite right, peered over his shoulder at her. "Rose?"

Rose shook her head and tried to give him a reassuring smile to tell him it was nothing, and hastily blinked back tears.

It was a while before she trusted herself to speak, and even then it was in a thick, croak which made her sound as if she'd had a bad cold, but the Doctor continued to look at her, concern and puzzlement dawning in his eyes.

"I…" her voice cracked and she had to start again.

The Doctor turned around so that he was facing her; impossibly close so that she could count all the freckles on his nose, the clouds of their breath mingling.

She reached out and grabbed a hold of the front of his coat, tentatively.

"I'm never going to leave you," she promised him, her voice quiet but full of a steely conviction; her eyes adamant and fierce.

"I'm going to _stay_ with you forever," she insisted.

"And whether you like it or not, if it's a choice between you and my family then it's always going to be you, all right? No, shush a minute."

The Doctor had foolishly attempted to interrupt her, eyes indignant but Rose carried on, tugging on his coat to emphasize her words.

"If you even _try_ to send me away again to save my life or whatever, I will slap you harder than my mum," she insisted fervently, going slightly pink with outrage at the thought, and the Doctor swallowed, nervously, taken aback.

"'Cause it's you and me, yeah? Together?"

The Doctor stared at her wordlessly, his eyes darkening and slowly brought a hand up to her face, the heavy wool of his coat making a _whoosh_ at the movement.

He rested his hand against her cheek in an impulsive action and kept it there.

"Yeah," he said hoarsely. "Yeah, I er…"

He blinked and raised his eyebrows, as if struggling to form his words.

He glanced up at the firework-marked sky, seeming oddly emotional.

"I reckon…we'll always be all right; you and me," he said softly, with a small smile.

It was what Rose had asked the last time they'd watched the fireworks together.

"We'll always be all right; you and me. Don't you reckon, Doctor?" He'd dodged the question; too overcome by his feeling of unease but now…over three years later he was giving her reply. At last, answering her question.

Yeah.

Rose smiled in acknowledgement, not missing the reference. "S'nothing in the air though, is there?" she half-joked darkly, her tone light but eyes serious.

"Ohh, there are several things in the air," enthused the Doctor self-importantly, wiggling his tie.

"Nitrogen, Oxygen, Argon, Carbon Dioxide," he trilled off before giving a hearty sniff, like a wine taster commenting on the bouquet.

"Probably slight traces of Lithium and Sodium, too, tonight…considering it's Bonfire Night," he added thoughtfully.

"You know what I _mean_!"

"Yep," admitted the Doctor.

"Time Lord, me. Mostly," he corrected himself with a slight frown.

"And no. No storms…not like last time. C'mere," he said, looking sympathetically at Rose, seeing that she was still troubled.

He kissed her forehead and pulled her into a comforting hug.

Rose sighed, content to just be held, letting her eyes flutter closed.

It was dark and cold; her hands felt like they'd been sitting in a freezer and her jeans were doing nothing to keep her legs warm.

At all.

Her head was too full, though; too full of thoughts and feelings that she couldn't unravel and sort out, like trying to do quadratic equations, which she'd always found very difficult.

She was utterly overjoyed at the prospect of getting back into the TARDIS and setting off around the universe with the Doctor, which was all she'd ever yearned for…but something, and she couldn't quite put her finger on what, made her feel uneasy about the Doctor saying that her mum had been 'illuminating.'

What if she was seriously ill? Dying? What if something happened to one of them within the next five years?

Surely, in that case, she was better off staying at home; cherishing whatever time they had left? Ohh she didn't _know_…

"You're fidgeting," the Doctor informed her , pulling back to survey her.

"All right?"

"Yeah," fibbed Rose, fiddling with her scarf; pulling on the two strands so that they were equal lengths; the left side having been hanging down lower.

"No-o," corrected the Doctor, briskly; making it quite clear that he wasn't convinced in the slightest.

"Oi," he reprimanded her gently, as she began to deny it.

Seeing as the only person more stubborn than Rose in the entire universe, was standing just in front of her with a messy mop of hair and grim expression, Rose saw that it would be pointless to argue and gave in…not_ entirely_ gracefully, but not too badly, either.

"I just…I know I'm not supposed to know my own future and all that," stressed Rose, sounding as if she were regurgitating advice that she had been drilled on many times before.

"But…whatever it was that my mum said to you or err _will_ say to you, I suppose," she gabbled, pulling on her scarf again.

"Is it bad? I mean, is she ok? And Pete and Tony? I mean if it was, would you tell me?" she pleaded looking extremely distressed; eyes preoccupied, hands fidgety.

The Doctor shoved one hand in his pockets and rubbed the back of his neck with the other, rocking back on the balls of his feet.

Looking at Rose; bleached hair whipping around her face, eyes watering from the wind and possibly something else, too; her nose red with the cold, a crease of worry lining her forehead, he suddenly became very tongue-tied and couldn't think of a single sensible thing to say.

Simply because she was _Rose_.

His eyes danced with an awful twinkle that he knew something that she didn't, which wasn't really that unusual, but no less annoying.

Rose scowled at him, unimpressed, until the Doctor seemed to decide that hugs said far more than words.

"Be quiet," he advised her, pulling her to him.

"I _think_," he said after a minute, feeling Rose's arms fold around his neck; the material of her coat crinkling as she settled herself into his shoulder, breathing warm and steady against his neck.

"That it'll be the other way round," he said cryptically, lowering his voice so that it was little more than a murmur in her ear.

Innately sensing that Rose, inquisitive as ever, was about to question him further, he continued.

"_You'll_ be the one telling _me_ something," he whispered, grinning into his words.

Rose, although she turned his words over and over in her head; replaying and rewinding, not unlike the way she had constantly listened to _C'est la vie_ when she was younger on her _Walkman_, she frowned into his chest but didn't say anything; didn't quiz him anymore.

He probably had his reasons for keeping quiet, for once; which was very unlike him, as he could quite easily talk the hind legs off a horse; although not without naming it _Arthur_ first.

She would find out when she had to.

* * *


End file.
